A Small Entrustment and a New Rival

The kid scrambled as if he recognized me too. Unfortunately for him, I wasn’t so weak that I’d let a smaller brat slip away just because he put up a fight. Soon, realizing escape was futile, the little guy stopped struggling and stammered in a dejected voice.

“I-I’m sorry. I did wrong.”

I hadn’t even threatened to turn him over to the guards to have his hands cut off like Verrinen would have, but he was trembling so hard he started to sob. Clutched in his shivering small hands was a bag of bread, not even money. Looking at that made my heart heavy again. I wondered if I even had the right to pity him, but at the same time, I felt loathsome for having no intention of actually helping him.

When I didn’t respond, his voice grew smaller and smaller until he finally hung his head low. Even after I let go of his clothes, his legs hesitated, and he couldn’t bring himself to run. I wished I could give him some money like last time, but I hadn’t brought much out with me.

After a moment of thought, I pulled the locket out of my pocket.

“If you’re sorry, can you do me a favor?”

“Y-yes?”

“If someone comes looking for this, give it to them. Otherwise, you keep it.”

If this was truly the item destined to end up in Luke’s hands, it would find its way there somehow; if not, so be it. To be honest, it didn’t matter if the kid just took it and sold it. Since I had no way of delivering it to Luke right now anyway, it was as good as lost.

The boy’s eyes darted anxiously as he took the locket.

“What kind of… person?”

“Black hair and yellow eyes… No, never mind. Just, if someone comes.”

Unless he was watching me right this second, there was no way Luke would coincidentally appear before this kid at the perfect time. It would probably be more productive if the brat sold it to buy a few meals.

The boy, hugging his bread bag and clutching the locket with both hands so it wouldn’t be seen, nodded his head.

After returning, I finished my letters. It was a good thing I’d started them in advance, or I wouldn’t have been able to send them to so many people.

I took the kids at the Academy off the priority list since they wouldn’t be in the capital until I returned anyway. That allowed me to whittle down the names quickly. As I wrote similar sentiments over and over, just swapping out a few words, I wondered if I should just send one group letter to my family—but I knew they’d be hurt, so I couldn’t bring myself to do it. After all, I wouldn’t be around to comfort Abel when he acted all melancholy while leaning against a window frame anymore.

I debated for a long while whether to include the Crown Prince on the list, but ultimately left him out. They say you give an extra rice cake to the one you hate, but I didn’t feel like giving him a letter. When I was at Edwill Castle, he sent invitations every single week, but the moment I arrived in Robenus, he went completely silent. It was spiteful. Some “first love” he was. Did he really think he could win someone’s heart with that little effort?

On the other hand, I didn’t forget Cedric Klein. He’s annoying, but I need him for my plans.

My hand shook slightly with a surge of annoyance as I wrote “CC” after wishing him well, but I figured he’d just assume I wrote it in a hurry. Honestly, what was he going to do even if he didn’t understand?

I wasn’t worried that he might forget me during my years of absence. Compared to the Crown Prince, who suddenly turned sweet out of nowhere, or Luke, whose inner thoughts were a complete mystery, Cedric Klein—who consistently exchanged letters with me—was practically saintly. At least his fondness for me seemed sincere.

I asked a maid to send the letters after I departed, then sprawled out on my bed to enjoy my last bit of leisure. Now, I had truly done everything I could.

I felt like I could hear a voice asking if I was really going to walk this path of hardship. It was the devil’s whisper, asking if I didn’t already know a much easier way. It wasn’t that I wasn’t tempted. I could just choose the Crown Prince… but no matter how much I thought about it, I didn’t have the confidence to spend my life kissing and sleeping with a guy who was mentally much younger than me, had a terrible personality, and was, well, a guy.

15. The ‘Sub’ Appears

The moment I sensed something approaching, I rolled. Avoiding the strike by a hair’s breadth, the sword grazed the spot where my leg had been. I gritted my teeth as I saw the dirt being gouged deeply. Merciless bastard. Even if it was a training sword, that hit would have broken a bone.

Despite my internal grumbling, I didn’t take my eyes off his movements. There’s always a small opening right after a big movement. I couldn’t afford to waste the opportunity after such a clean dodge. I stayed low and closed the distance.

My opponent used a sword with a blade length and weight customized to his preference. Based on the speed he’d shown so far, it was possible. If I used my leg as an axis and twisted my waist to strike—

Screeeech.

An ink-colored sword rose out of nowhere to block mine, creating a harsh grinding sound. His reaction time was monstrous every time I saw it. He had obviously grown since our last encounter, but he seemed even faster than when we started today. Was he the type to awaken during training, or had he been taking it easy on me until now?

Whichever it was, I didn’t like it. Having missed a rare opportunity, irritability flared up in my impatient mind. Reminding myself to stay calm didn’t help much.

If he’s fast, he should at least be weak. If he’s strong, it’s only normal to be slow, right? If he’s going to have both, he should at least put in less effort. Unfortunately, “a genius who relies on talent and doesn’t work hard” was not a description that applied to him. He was a genius who worked hard.

I guess the man destined to be the best really is different. I took a short breath and looked at his handsome face. His eyes, a cold blue reminiscent of winter, made his surname easy to guess.

I didn’t know why the man destined to become a Duke was hiding his name and training as a student of the Spellman house, but it was a stroke of luck for me. After all, the person I had to face wasn’t Joshua Bretti, the current “best,” but the future Duke of Dimension who would eventually take that title—the opponent right in front of me. There was nothing wrong with getting acquainted with a ‘Sub’ who plays a major role in the story.

Of course, the fact that he appeared like this—when he was originally supposed to meet Llewellyn during a brief visit to the capital—meant the original plot had twisted, which left me feeling a bit complicated. His skill being even greater than expected only added to that feeling.

If only my opponent looked flustered or tired, I might feel better. But looking at his perfectly composed face—which looked like it could be sent straight to a banquet hall if he just wiped away the sweat—distracted me.

If only I had one more sword… Since I’d become accustomed to switching hands, the temptation of dual-wielding briefly crossed my mind. If one got blocked, I could attack with the other; it would be quite satisfying to see that face crumble. Of course, it was a ridiculous thought. If my master heard it, he wouldn’t say it out loud, but his face would clearly scream, ‘How pathetic…’

Even with both hands on the hilt, we were locked in a struggle so intense that the blades were screaming against each other. If I let go with one hand, I’d be blown away by his sheer strength.

“Focus.”

Something must have displeased him; his voice was sullen. He didn’t even give me time to answer, launching into a follow-up attack as if to ensure I didn’t have a second to look away. I had to move busily—blocking, parrying, and cutting him off.

Clang!

I blocked a horizontal strike, but my body wavered. As he poured on the pressure to finish me, my braced foot slid back through the dirt. I released the tension, leaned back, and kicked off the ground to create distance before lunging in again.

With my senses sharpened to the point of increasing my intraocular pressure, my opponent’s movements seemed to slow down. Top left, thigh, then straight to the waist. The sword, aimed only at the most cumbersome spots to block, was sharp and fast, but it wasn’t yet perfected.

I had watched Spellman—the empire’s finest knight—train until I was sick of it. If I allowed this young brat to land a hit, I’d have to vomit up every meal I’d ever eaten.

I gripped my parried sword and swung. If blocked, again. And again. I pressed in obsessively, looking for an opening, but he refused to give me a single one. I felt like I could end this if I just had one opening. Irritated by the hair sticking to my forehead with sweat, I brushed it away and caught my breath.

Don’t be impatient. If you see an opening, attack, but know when to retreat. The advice I’d heard until my ears bled replayed in my mind in Spellman’s stern voice.

Calming my heart, I maintained the distance. Those pale blue eyes followed me, determined not to miss a single movement. On his pale, cold face was a long scratch I’d made earlier. He looked composed, but a closer look revealed his chest heaving with ragged breath. Quite a bit of time had passed since the spar began under the guise of training.

I wasn’t the only one getting tired or thinking it was about time to end this.

Unlike the beginning, when the cheering was loud, the surroundings were now silent. I couldn’t tell if people were watching with bated breath or if they’d left, bored by the prolonged duel. Instead of looking around, I silently gripped my sword again.

Spellman was a stubborn swordsman, exactly as he looked. Following his insistence that relying on artifacts doesn’t help one improve, the weight of the real sword I’d picked up early now felt as familiar as a part of my own body. It felt as if my senses extended to the very tip of the blade; I could feel the position of the edge and even the air brushing against it.

Moments of such deep focus were rare. I blew a breath upward to clear my bangs. I didn’t want to admit it, but it seemed fighting this “ice doll” was definitely helping.

Without a word on who would go first, we both kicked off the ground at the same time.